Winry Jackson and The Lightning Thief
by Hoshimura Hinata
Summary: Winry Jackson was your normal troublemaker, well, until her math teacher turned into a bird-thing and she was forced into the world of demigods, a quest to get her all-powerful-uncle's Lightning with an annoying blond and scared best friend. Oh, did she mention strange fishy powers? Fem!Percy and Male! Annabeth, with other genderbenders.
1. Chapter 1

Look, I_ really_ didn't want to be a half-blood, believe me, I didn't even know what a half-blood was until some time ago.

If you are reading this because you think you are one, then take my advice: close this book right now and throw it out of the window (try to aim it at someone you hate too or at hobos). Believe anything your parents tell you about you birth (it doesn't matter if they told you were born out of a flying magic unicorn, believe them) and try to live a normal life (minus if they really told you were born out of a magic unicorn, if it's the case, them take your parents to the nearest mental hospital).

Begin a half-blood is dangerous, scary and can get you killed in a nasty, painful ways. Ok, it may be cool sometimes, but the price is too high… Too high. So, if you are a normal kid, read on and I really envy you for thinking this isn't real, that this is all fiction… That everything you read didn't really happen.

If you can see yourself in this pages, if you can feel something inside you stirring… Then stop right now. You may be one of us, and when you find out, _they_ will find out too and _they_ will come for you.

Don't say I didn't warn you, because if you say so I will personally visit you and rearrange your face.

My name if Winry Jackson (if you laugh at my name, I swear to the gods I will…).

Am I a troubled kid?

Yeah. You could say that and ask anyone else. They will say that too.

I could start at any point in my short miserable life (seriously, everything started when I was born and the nurse dropped me…) to prove it, but things really started going bad last May, when our sixth grade class took a field trip to Manhattan-twenty-eight mental-case kids (you know, your average class of crazy kids) and two teachers (yeah, because two old teachers can control crazy twelve years olds) on a yellow school bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient Greek and Roman stuff.

I know, it sounds like torture. But, hey, if it wasn't torture, it isn't related to school.

But Mr. Brunner, our Latin teacher, was leading this trip, so I had hopes.

Mr. Brunner is a middle-aged man in a motorized wheel chair. He had thinning hair and a scruffy beard and a frayed tweed jacket, which always smelled like coffee (don't ask me how I know that). You wouldn't think he'd be cool, since normally people with his appearance weren't the definition of cool, but he told stories and jokes and let us play games in class (bevieve, in Yancy, he is the only teacher that does that). He also had this awesome collection of Roman armor and weapons that he used in class (Note to other teacher: if you want your students to do their homework, get a long bronze sword,** that** will make them do it), so he was the only teacher whose class didn't put me to sleep, and that was saying something.

I really hoped that the trip would be ok, because my record with fieldtrips isn't all rainbows, unicorns and sunshine.

See, bad things always happen to me on field trips. Like my school in fifth - grade, took us to the Saratoga battlefield, I had this accident with a revolutionary war cannon. I swear, I wasn't aiming for the school bus, but of course I was expelled anyway (I think they weren't that pissed off until the police came). Also, in fourth - grade we took a behind - the - scenes tour of the marine world shark pool, I accidentally hit this lever on the controls for the catwalk and ... let's just say that the class took an unplanned swim (I don't know why they didn't like it, the sharks were really pleasant! But I guess they really didn't like it when Mr. Sharky 1 and Mr. Sharky 2 tried to eat my, er, "very loved" classmates). And before that ... well you get the idea.

This trip, I was determined to be a good golden Mary-Sue. So, no sharks, no cannons, no basketballs, no cats, no Korean cake shops (don't ask…) and no bad Winry.

All the way to the city, I willed myself to not punch the lights out of Nancy Bobofit, the freckly, read-headed kleptomaniac girl that kept hitting my best friend, Grover, with chunks of her peanut butter and ketchup sandwich (yeah, she's that sick).

Grover was an easy target. He was scrawny. He cried when he got frustrated. He must've been held back several grades, because he was the only sixth grader with acne and the start of a wispy beard on his chin. On top of all that, he was crippled. He had a note excusing him from PE for the rest of his life (lucky guy, Couch Melissa was the devil reincarnated) because he had some kind of muscular disease in his legs. He walked funny, like every step hurt him, but don't let that fool you. You should've seen him run when it was enchilada day in the cafeteria. Translating everything: he is awesome. Grover is my best and only friend (I know, that's sad), but he is the only one who didn't try to act all high and mighty at school, so I had to protect him from the bullies, which I gladly do.

Anyway, Nancy Bobofit was throwing wads of sandwich that stuck in his curly brown hair, and she knew I couldn't do anything back to her because I was already on probation because of something that happened in the last field trip (stupid Korean cake shop!). The headmaster had threatened me with death by in-school suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip. I don't really know why he was so mad, I brought cake last time!

"I'm going to kill this girl." I mumbled, glaring at the red-headed demon.

Grover tried to calm me down. "It's ok, I actually like peanut butter." He almost did calm me down.

He dodged another piece of Nancy's lunch. Well, almost.

"Ok, that's it!" I said, getting up, but Grover grasped my arm and pulled me back.

"You're already on probation." He reminded me quietly. "You know that you will get blamed if someone's Starbuck's coffee spilled." I couldn't help but smile. Grover had his own ways of protecting me, I guess this is a best friends thing.

But now that I look back, I wished I had thrown Nancy out of the bus window. It would have saved me a lot of trouble and would have been fun.

Mr. Brunner was leading the museum tour.

He rode up front in his wheelchair, guiding us through the big echoey galleries, past beautifully-sculpted marble statues and glass cases full of really old and delicate-looking black-and-orange pottery. It was really pretty for things that survived at least two thousand years or so.

He gathered us around a thirteen-foot-tall stone column with a big sphinx on the top, and started telling us how it was a grave marker, a stele, for a girl about our age. He told us about the carvings on the sides. I was trying to listen to what he had to say, because it was very interesting and Mr. Brunner is a really good teacher, so he explained so well that even an ADHD girl could pay attention. Everyone around me was talking, completely ignoring our Latin teacher, so of course I had to scream for them to shut up (Was I really the one with ADHD?), but Mrs. Dodds, the other chaperone, glared at me every time I did.

Mrs. Dodds was this old and evil Witch we all poor souls had to call "our math teacher". She was always wearing a leather black jacket, like she was a gangster or something, which only she could pull off with her evil fifty-years-old look. She came to Yancy halfway through the year when our other teacher had a nervous breakdown and, although she was the math teacher, her personal job was to make us have nervous breakdowns.

The woman simply loved Nancy Bobofit and thought I was the devil's spawn since the first day. I guess she didn't like when that pony followed me to class on her first day, but, hey, it's not my fault that she came right after our trip to a circus (the headmaster did anything he could to get us out of the school). It's not my fault that ponies love me (and I swear that one was talking, but after that time when I was six and told my teacher Lord Goldfish was talking to me and she made me go to the psychologist, I never talk about this things anymore)!

So, back at Mrs. Dodds, one time, after she'd made me erase answers out of old math workbooks until midnight (just because I was sleeping in class, come on, who wasn't?), I told Grover I didn't think Mrs. Dodds was human. He looked at me, real serious, and said, "You're absolutely right." If her students think like that, I pity poor Mr. Dodds.

Mr. Brunner was talking about the art of the Greek funeral. Finally, Nancy snickered about some naked guy on the stele and I felt my face flush in anger. I didn't know why, but I felt hugely disrespected since she was snickering about naked guys when we are talking about _Greek Funerals. _I turned around and screamed. "Will you shut up?"

I guess it was louder than I thought it would.

Everyone laughed and Mr. Brunner stopped his history, turning around to face me.

"Ms. Jackson, do you have a comment?" He asked calmly and I could feel my cheeks turning a violent shade of crimson.

"No Mr. Brunner, I'm sorry for interrupting." What? I really respect the guy!

"Maybe you could tell us what this picture represents?" He asked, pointing to a stele.

I did a little dance on my head as I looked at the stele and recognized the picture. "That's Chronos eating his kid, right?"

"Yes." Mr. Brunner didn't look satisfied. "And he did that because…"

"Oh, well…" I wished I had payed a little more attention to the story, but since my ADHD didn't completely distract me on the class, I cold remember a bit of the story. "Well, Chronos, the king god-"

"God?" Mr. Brunner asked.

"Titan." I corrected myself, feeling like I had insulted myself by calling Chronos a god."He didn't trust his kids, who were the gods, and ate them" Because nothing assures a child's obedience than eating her, I thought sarcastically, but didn't dare to say that out aloud. "But his wife hid baby Zeus and gave him a rock to eat instead." Was the guy really that dumb? How could he not know the difference between his baby and a rock? Again, I didn't say it. "And when Zeus grew up, he tricked him into barfing his brothers and sisters-"

"Ewww" The girls said behind me and I could sympathize with the gods, after all, begin barfed must not have been fun.

"-and there was this big fight with the gods and titans" I continued. "And the gods won."

The group of idiots behind me started snickering. I huffed, as if they could do any better.

Nancy Bobofit mumbled to a friend, "Like we're going to use this in real life. Like it's going to say on our job applications, 'Please explain why Chronos ate his kids. '"

"And why, Ms. Jackson, "Mr. Brunner said, "to paraphrase Miss Bobofit's excellent question, does this matter in real life?"

"Busted, "Grover muttered. And I would have high-fived him if I could at least answer Mr. Brunner's question.

"Shut up," Nancy hissed, her face even brighter red than her hair (and that was saying something).

At least Nancy got packed, too. Mr. Brunner was the only one who ever caught her saying anything wrong. He had radar ears, unlike the other teacher that were blind, deaf and mute when it comes to the other, but with me they have horse year, hawk eyes and all the words to complain to the headmaster.

I thought about his question, and shrugged. "I don't know, sir. "

"I see. " Mr. Brunner looked disappointed. "Well, half credit, Mr. Jackson. Zeus did indeed feed Chronos a mixture of mustard and wine, which made him disgorge his other five children, who, of course, being immortal gods, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan's stomach." You could tell that he also didn't think that that was the ideal childhood "The gods defeated their father, sliced him to pieces with his own scythe, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld. On that happy note, it's time for lunch. Mrs. Dodds, would you lead us back outside?" Was the guy bipolar or something?

Everyone went outside. The girls were holding their stomachs as if they were going to be sick, probably still thinking about Chronos's wonderful appetite. The guys were acting like doofuses (like always). Grover and I were about to go out too.

"Miss Jackson." Mr. Brunner said, stopping me.

I gave Grover a nod to keep going, he sent me a worried look and I just smiled, glad to know that he cared, then gave him a reassuring smile. The, I went to talk to Mr. Brunner. "Sir?"

Mr. Brunner had a really intense and ancient look in his yeas, like he had seen thousand years and will see a lot more. His intense brown eyes were burning into my sea-green ones.

"You must learn to answer my question." He told me.

"About the Titans?"

"About how your studies apply to real life."

"Oh." Was my oh-so-smart reply.

"What you learn from me, "he said, "is vitally important. I expect you to treat it as such. I will accept only the best from you, Winry Jackson. "

I wanted to get angry at him, he pushed me so hard! But, then, I knew he only wanted the best for me and couldn't really get angry at him, after all, Mr. Brunner was the only teacher that really cared.

I mean, sure, it was kind of cool on tournament days, when he dressed up in a suit of Roman armor and shouted: "What ho! (still don't know what that means)'" and challenged us, sword-point against chalk, to run to the board and name every Greek and Roman person who had ever lived, and their mother, and what god they worshipped and if we didn't, we all were really sure he knew how to use that and wasn't afraid to do so. But Mr. Brunner expected me to be as good as everybody else, despite the fact that I have dyslexia and attention deficit disorder and I had never made above a C- (other than when we had to swim in special classes for P.E) in my life. No- he didn't expect me to be like everyone else, he really expected me to be better than everyone else, which was the solid proof that he actually cared and, even if it was annoying, I couldn't help but feel proud he believed in me, since I'm certain that I don't.

I mumbled something about trying harder, looking at my feet. Mr. Brunner was the only teacher that made me feel ashamed by doing bad in class. When I looked up, I noticed he was taking a sad look at the girl's stele, as if he was in her funeral and I had the urge to put a hand on his shoulder to comfort him, but it didn't seem like my place.

He told me to go out and eat my lunch, so I only nodded quietly and left him with his melancholic look.

Everyone was in front of the museum, where we all could watch the foot traffic along Fifth Avenue. Overhead, a huge storm was brewing, with clouds blacker than I'd ever seen over the city. I figured maybe it was global warming or something, because the weather all across New York State had been weird since Christmas. We'd had massive snow storms, flooding, and wildfires from lightning strikes. I wouldn't have been surprised if this was a hurricane blowing in. I didn't want to admit it, but the weather was really bothering me, as if something could strike me anytime.

Nobody seemed to mind it and I was the only on uneasy, so I decided to ignore the bad feeling that was growing in my chest. I never knew how idiotic that was of me. Some of the guys were pelting pigeons (poor little pigeons) with Lunchables crackers. Nancy Bobofit was trying to pickpocket something from a lady's purse, and, of course, Mrs. Dodds wasn't seeing a thing. A normal Yancy fieldtrip.

Grover and I sat by the edge of the fountain, trying to look like we weren't from the school of losers that couldn't make elsewhere. I dipped my hand on the cool water fountain and smiled as I felt the clear liquid run down my hand, strangely making me feel better. Water just had this affect on me.

"Detention?" Grover asked, snapping me out of my water-induced calmness.

"Not from Mr. Brunner."I answered, dipping my hand once again a speaking more quietly. "I just wished he would lay off me sometimes, not that I don't appreciate his concern, it's just that I'm not a genius."

Grover didn't say anything for a while. Then, when I thought he was going to give me some deep philosophical comment to make me feel better and that we would have a deep best friend-bonding moment, he said, "Can I have your apple?"

I wasn't very hungry and didn't even like apples (why did I have one again?), so I gave him it.

I watched the stream of cabs going down Fifth Avenue, and thought about my mom's apartment, only a little ways uptown from where we sat. I hadn't seen her since Christmas. I wanted so bad to jump in a taxi and head home. She'd hug me and be glad to see me, but she'd be disappointed, too. She'd send me right back to Yancy, sadly reminding me that I had to try harder, even if this was my sixth school in six years and I was probably going to be kicked out. Again. But I wouldn't be able to stand the sad look she would give me. The last thing I wanted to do in my life was to make my most important person to be sad.

Mr. Brunner parked his wheelchair at the base of the handicapped ramp. He ate celery while he read a paperback novel. He had a red umbrella on his chairm, making it look like a motorized coffee table.

I was about to unwrap my sandwich when Nancy Bobofit appeared in front of me with her ugly friends- I guess she'd gotten tired of stealing from the tourists-and dumped her half-eaten lunch on Grover's lap.

"Oops." She grinned at me with her crooked teeth. Her freckles were orange, as if somebody had spray- painted her ugly face with liquid Cheetos, trying to help us by making it look better. It really didn't really help, it only made her look more like a Witch (I wonder if she and Mrs. Dodds are in a secret Witch community? I wouldn't be really surprised.)

I tried to stay cool. The school counselor had told me a million times, "Count to ten, get control of your temper." But I was so mad my mind went blank and I lost count after five. A wave roared in my ears. Just another thing about me: don't mess with my friends and Grover is my only friend.

I don't remember touching her, if I did, I would still be washing my hand, but next thing I knew, Nancy was sitting on the fountain and she screaming like a banshee "Winry pushed me! Winry pushed me!"

Mrs. Dodds was beside me like a flash.

Some gossiping kids that didn't have anything else to do started to whisper "Did you see-"

"-the water-"

"-like it grabbed her-"

I didn't really know what they were talking about and relly didn't care. All I could see is that I was in trouble. Again. The glare Mrs. Dodds was giving me was very creep. I didn't know if she was mad at me for "pushing" Nancy or for making her scream (I think I went deaf for a while after her scream).

As soon as Mrs. Dodds was sure poor little Nancy was okay, promising to get her a new shirt at the museum gift shop (yeah, because that's everything a girl wants after begin dropped in a fountain), etc. , etc. , Mrs. Dodds turned on me. There was a triumphant fire in her eyes, as if I'd done something she'd been waiting for all semester. "Now, honey-"

"I know." I said looking down angrily. This is all Nancy's fault and there was nothing I wanted more than wiping the floor with her Cheetos-Freckled face. "A month erasing textbooks."

Note to self: Never guess you own punishment. Never.

"Come with me." The old and evil witch said.

"Wait!" Grover yelled. "I was me! I pushed her!"

I stared at him stunned. Mrs. Dodds scared Grover to death (just like she did with half of the students and teachers), so for Grover, the scared cat, to cover up for me, that was… Really brave. I couldn't help but smile a little. Grover really tried to protect me too.

She glared at him so hard that his chin trembled, but he held strong. I wanted to step in front of him, but decided against it. This was Grover's fight, for now.

"I don't think so, Mr. Underwood" She said.

"But-" He tried to say, but she glared even harder.

"You will stay her." Her voice showed finality and I decided to step up.

"It's okay, G-man." I said, smiling at him. He finally looked at me with pleading eyes. "Thanks for trying."

"Winry…" He said but I put my hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay."

"Honey, now!" Mrs. Dodds barked, ruining the best-friend-bonding moment I was waiting for.

Nancy smirked. I gave her a sickly sweet smile that meant I'll-kill-very-slowly-later. I was happy when I saw her flinch and look slight disturbed.

Then I turned to face Mrs. Dodds, but she wasn't there. She was standing at the museum entrance, way at the top of the steps, gesturing impatiently at me to come on.

How'd she get there so fast?

I have moments like that a lot, when my brain falls asleep or something, and the next thing I know I've missed something, as if a puzzle piece fell out of the universe and left me staring at the blank place behind it. The school counselor told me this was part of the ADHD, my brain misinterpreting things.

I wasn't so sure. It felt like a blanked was hiding something that my mind knew that was to be seen, but the blanket wouldn't let me see.

I went after Mrs. Dodds.

Halfway up the steps, I glanced back at Grover. He was looking pale, cutting his eyes between me and Mr. Brunner, like he wanted Mr. Brunner to notice what was going on, but Mr. Brunner was absorved in his novel.

I looked back up. Mrs. Dodds had disappeared again. She was now inside the building, at the end of the entrance hall.

Okay, I thought. She's going to make me buy a new shirt for Nancy at the gift shop (I'm lucky I brought money).

But apparently that wasn't the plan.

I followed her deeper into the museum. When I finally caught up to her, we were back in the Greek and Roman section.

Except for us, the gallery was empty.

Mrs. Dodds stood with her arms crossed in front of a big marble frieze of the Greek gods. She was making this weird noise in her throat, like growling. Normally, the thought of Mrs. Dodds acting like an animal was funny to me, but now it made very nervous, like she was the predator. And I was the hunted animal.

Even without the noise, I would've been nervous. It's weird being alone with a teacher, especially Mrs. Dodds. Something about the way she looked at the frieze, as if she wanted to pulverize it...

You've been giving us problems, honey, " she said.

I did the safe thing to do. I said, "Yes, ma'am. "

She tugged on the cuffs of her leather jacket. "Did you really think you would get away with it?"

The look in her eyes was beyond mad. It was evil. Like millions of tortured souls screaming in pain.

She's a teacher, I thought nervously, gulping down my dry throat. It's not like she's going to hurt me.

"I'll try harder, ma'am." I did everything I could to not stutter, but could not fight the shudder I felt when thunder shook the building.

It was as if the sky itself was angry.

"We are not fools, Winry Jackson, " Mrs. Dodds said. "It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain. " Was there a no pain option? I couldn't help but think.

I didn't know what she was talking about.

All I could think of was that the teachers must've found the illegal stash of candy I'd been selling out of my dorm room (Note to every secret illegal candy seller: Desperate kids pay double for any candy you may have). Or maybe they'd realized I got my essay on Tom Sawyer from the Internet without ever reading the book and now they were going to take away my grade. Or worse, they were going to make me read the book (give me a break! I'm dyslexic!).

"Well?" she demanded.

"Ma'am, I don't... "

"Your time is up, " she hissed. Oh god, now there was a time limit?

Then the weirdest thing happened. Her eyes began to glow like barbecue coals. Her fingers stretched, turning into talons. Her jacket melted into large, leathery wings. She wasn't human. She was a shriveled hag with bat wings and claws and a mouth full of yellow fangs, and she was about to slice me to ribbons. Oh, now I understand the suffering part.

Then things got even stranger (yes, it could get even stranger).

Mr. Brunner, who was outside a minute ago, did a teleport-thing and was in the dooway of the gallery, holding a silver ballpoint pen in his hand. "What ho, Winry!" He screamed and tossed the pen through the air.

Mrs. Dodds lunged at me.

With a yelp, I dodged and felt talons slash the air next to my ear.I rolled on the floor, the dirty ground against my dark blue coat and took a little impulse to jump. I snatched the ballpoint pen out of the air, but when it hit my hand, it wasn't a pen anymore. It was a sword- Mr. Brunner's bronze sword, which he always used on tournament day.

Mrs. Dodds spun toward me with a murderous look in her eyes.

My knees were jelly. My hands were shaking so bad I almost dropped the sword.

She snarled, "Die, honey!"

And she flew straight at me.

Absolute terror ran through my body. I did the only thing that came naturally: I swung the sword, using all of it's weight along with speed.

The metal blade hit her shoulder and passed clean through her body as if she were made of water. Hisss!

Mrs. Dodds was a sand castle in a power fan. She exploded into yellow powder, vaporized on the spot, leaving nothing but the smell of sulfur and a dying screech and a chill of evil in the air, as if those two glowing red eyes were still watching me. I coughed, my thoughts dulled, but I still hoped that Mrs. Dodds powder-thing didn't land on me or I would have more nightmares then I thought.

I was alone.

There was a simple silver ballpoint pen on my hand.

Mr. Brunner wasn't there. Nobody was there but me.

My hands were still trembling. My lunch must've been contaminated with magic mushrooms or some-thing. Maybe I had to much Korean Cake that Sue-Ling gave me?

Had I imagined the whole thing? I wasn't sure, I could still feel the fear and the adrenalin was slowly dissipating and I had to hold myself to not fall on my knees.

I went back outside.

It had started to rain. Instead of covering myself up I welcomed the cool water on my face, feeling slight soothed that something familiar was falling on me, washing out my stress, like the warm hand of a parent.

Grover was sitting by the fountain, a museum map tented over his head. Nancy Bobofit was still standing there, soaked from her swim in the fountain, grumbling to her ugly friends. When she saw me, she said, "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt. "

I said, "Who?"

"Our teacher. Duh!"

I blinked. We had no teacher named Mrs. Kerr. I asked Nancy what she was talking about.

She just rolled her eyes and turned away.

I asked Grover where Mrs. Dodds was.

He said, "Who?"

But he paused first, and he wouldn't look at me, so I thought he was messing with me.

"Not funny, G-man, " I told him. "This is serious. "

Thunder boomed overhead.

I saw Mr. Brunner sitting under his red umbrella, reading his book, now a little closer to the fountain than before, but other than that, it was normal.

He looked up, a little distracted. "Ah, that would be my pen. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future, Ms. Jackson. "

I handed Mr. Brunner his pen. I hadn't even realized I was still holding it.

"Sir, "I said, trembling a little, "where's Mrs. Dodds?"

He stared at me blankly. "Who?"

"The other chaperone. Mrs. Dodds. The pre-algebra teacher. " I said, trying to not sound crazy like everyone else thought I was.

He frowned and sat forward, looking mildly concerned. "Winy, there is no Mrs. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy. Are you feeling alright?"

I stared blankly at him. " Yes, I am."

After that he nodded and I went to sit alone by the fountain. Grover and the others were in dry areas but I didn't want to go away from the water, not now. Looking at my reflection, I could only think of one thing while looking at my own sea-green eyes.

What was going on?


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I really didn't expect feedback, since I was very hesitant in the matter of writing the fanfic itself and I'm sorry if my grammar or anything else is bad, because I don't usually write in English, but I will do my best.**

**About the Gender benders, I will only do a few, like Annabeth, Luke and maybe Rachel. I can't do Thalia, since she is going to become a Huntress of Artemis nor Nico, since it would greatly disturb me. I will only try to change somethings, since I don't really want the plot to be completely different prom Percy Jackson, but I want at least the narration and some characters, since Percy as a female would change few things. I hope you enjoy the chapter.**

I was used to the "occasional" weird (to not say something that could get me a visit from those nice men with big needles) experience, but usually they were over quickly. This twenty- four/seven hallucination was more than I could handle, and believe, I could take a lot of things. For the rest of the school year, the entire campus seemed to be on permanent April fool's day, which is totally unfair, because I rock on April fool's day (to all the pranksters out there: either be a girl or have a friend in the girl's dorm of your school, because there's nothing sweeter than the sound of three hundred girls screaming about "some weird jelly thing in their beds").

The students acted as if they were completely and totally convinced that Mrs. Kerr-a perky blond woman whom I'd never seen in my life until she got on our bus at the end of the field trip-had been our pre-algebra teacher since Christmas. Oh, come on, she couldn't even give _Grover_ a breakdown! Every so often I would spring a Mrs. Dodds reference on somebody, just to see if I could trip them up, but they would stare at me like I was psycho (it doesn't matter what those psychologists said, I'm not a psycho, ok?).

It got so stressing that I almost believed that there was never a Mrs. Dodds and that the last five school psychologists I "scarred for life" were right.

Well, like I said, almost (I win, psychologists!).

But Grover couldn't fool me. When I mentioned the name Dodds to him, he would hesitate, then claim she didn't exist. But I knew he was lying. He really should give me some credit, after all, I'm his best friend and I have girl's intuition on my side, so he should know better than to lie to me. Oh, men, so naive.

Well, back to the topic (sorry, my ADHD kicking in), I know something happened at the museum.

I really didn't have time to think about it about the day with studying the best I could with dyslexia, protecting Grover and the usual school-day-surviving. But things were different at night. Dreams of Mrs. Dodds with talons and leathery wings would wake me up I night.

I hated it more than anything.

Every night, I woke up in cold sweat and teary eyes, but couldn't do more than harshly wipe my tears and gulp down my sobs, knowing that if I let one escape my dumbass of a roommate would wake up and yell at me and believe me, the last thing I needed was to have Nancy Bobofit see me in such a fragile state (why was she my roommate again?).

The freak weather continued, which didn't help my mood. One night, a thunderstorm blew out the windows in my dorm room. A few days later, the biggest tornado ever spotted in the Hudson Valley touched down only fifty miles from Yancy Academy. One of the current events we studied in social studies class was the unusual number of small planes that had gone down in sudden squalls in the Atlantic that year.

I didn't know why, but that me very uneasy, as if this was ready to strike me when I stopped watching my back.

I started feeling cranky and irritable most of the time. My grades slipped from Ds to Fs. I got into more fights with Nancy and her friends (and it didn't help I had to share a room with her). I was sent out into the hallway in almost every class, which was new, since it was usually on three or four classes per day.

Finally, when the English teacher, Mr. Nicoll (everyone just calls him Ms. Nicole anyway) asked me for the millionth time why I didn't study for the spelling tests, I snapped (but I lasted more than I thought I would). I called him a methomaniac old sot. I don't really know what that meant, but it felt good to tell him that.

The Headmaster sent my mom a letter the following wiki, making the inevitable official: I would not be invited next year to Yancy Academy.

It's fine. I told myself. Okay, just dandy.

I was homesick. I wanted to be with my mom in our little apartment on the Upper East Side, even if I had to go to public school and put up with my obnoxious stepfather and his stupid poker parties. The fact that I would be able to see mom everyday and talk to her every night made up for every bad thing that might happen.

And yet... There were things I'd miss at Yancy. The view of the woods out my dorm window, the Hudson River in the distance, the smell of pine trees (I like pines). I'd miss Grover, who'd been a very good friend and the only one that wasn't draw away by my strangeness, maybe because he is little strange himself. We were the best freak friends then. I worried how he'd survive next year without me; he isn't exactly the bravest guy in school.

I'd miss Latin class, too- Mr. Brunner's crazy tournament days and his faith that I could do well. Like I said, he was the only teacher that thought I could do actually well, even better than the others. I would really miss that.

As exam week got closer, Latin was the only test I studied for. I hadn't forgotten what Mr. Brunner had told me about this subject being life-and-death for me. I wasn't sure why, but I'd started to believe him. Maybe it was the look his eyes had in the museum; it was so intense that I could still feel it.

The evening before my final, I got so frustrated I threw the Cambridge Guide to Greek Mythology across my dorm room. Words had started swimming off the page, circling my head, the letters doing one- eighties as if they were riding skateboards (it's sad when words can ride skateboards better than you). There was no way I was going to remember the difference between Chiron and Charon, or Polydictes and Polydeuces. And conjugating those Latin verbs? Forget it. Who wanted troubled kids studying Latin anyway?

I paced the room, feeling like ants were crawling around inside my shirt, a feeling that I know from experience (have I ever told how much I hate begin roommates with Nancy Bobofit?)

I remembered Mr. Brunner's serious expression, his thousand-year-old eyes. I will accept only the best from you, Winry Jackson. I knew what I had to do next.

Taking a deep breath, I picked up the mythology book, wiping the dirty from Nancy's side of the room, where it landed.

I never really asked a teacher for help after my kindergarten teacher refused to help me and I began to cry. After that, some pipe on the ceiling broke and she had water all over her, I think it was karma, since you can't just tell a three-years-old little girl to suck it up after some baby jerk broke her favorite crayon (it was blue!). But, I knew Mr. Brunner wouldn't tell me to suck it. Maybe he could even give me some pointers or I could at least apologize for the bit F (nothing new) that I was about to score. I didn't want to leave Yancy Academy with the only teacher I ever like thinking I hadn't tried.

I walked downstairs to the faculty offices. Most of them were dark and empty, but Mr. Brunner's door was ajar, light from his window stretching across the hallway floor.

I was three steps from the door handle when I heard voices inside the office. Mr. Brunner asked a question. A voice that was definitely Grover's said "... Worried about Winry, sir. "

I froze.

I'm not usually an eavesdropper, but I dare you to try not listening if you hear your best friend talking about you to an adult.

I inched closer.

"... Alone this summer, " Grover was saying. "I mean, a Kindly One in the school! Now that we know for sure, and they know too-"

"We would only make matters worse by rushing her, " Mr. Brunner said. "We need the girl to mature more. " I winced, digging my nails harder into the book I was holding (I don't even remember starting).

"But she may not have time. The summer solstice dead-line- "

"Will have to be resolved without her, Grover. Let her enjoy her ignorance whiles he still can. "

"Sir, she saw her... "

"Her imagination," Mr. Brunner insisted."The Mist over the students and staff will be enough to convince her of that. "

"Sir, I ... I can't fail in my duties again. " Grover's voice was choked with emotion. "You know what that would mean. "

"You haven't failed, Grover," Mr. Brunner said kindly. "I should have seen her for what she was. Now let's just worry about keeping Winry alive until next fall-"

I hissed loudly, feeling a sharp pain on my right hand. Looking down at my fingers, where the pain was coming from, I noticed that I had dug my long nails (I often forgot to cut them when they became too long, like my hair) on the book so hard that they broke, taking at least half of it and leaving my fingers bleeding.

Only when I heard silence as a reply for my own, I noticed I had been too loud.

My heart hammering, I picked up the book and backed down the hall.

A shadow slid across the lighted glass of Brunner's office door, the shadow of something much taller than my wheelchair-bound teacher, holding something that looked suspiciously like an archer's bow.

I opened the nearest door and slipped inside.

A few seconds later I heard a slow clop-clop-clop, like muffled wood blocks, then a sound like an animal snuffling right outside my door. A large, dark shape paused in front of the glass, then moved on.

A bead of sweat trickled down my neck and I was even more aware of the pulsing spaces where my nails used to be and the blood trickling down them.

Somewhere in the hallway, Mr. Brunner spoke. "Nothing," he murmured. "My nerves haven't been right since the winter solstice. "

"Mine neither," Grover said. "But I could have sworn ..."

"Go back to the dorm, "Mr. Brunner told him. "You've got a long day of exams tomorrow. "

"Don't remind me."

The lights went out in Mr. Brunner's office.

I waited in the dark for what seemed like forever.

Finally, I slipped out into the hallway and made my way back up to the dorm.

I cursed mentally as I entered my room, going straight to the bathroom, ignoring Nancy hissing and asking where I was. Setting the book near the sink, I put my hand beneath the water, feeling relieved about the cool water on my no longer pulsing hands and washing out the blood. I sighed, turning off the sink faucet and putting band-aids on my raw flesh.

After I changed and yelled at Nancy to shut up and turn off the lights, I lied on bed. I really didn't want to sleep, knowing that more nightmares would come, but I also didn't want to be awake to think about all this.

I couldn't understand what I had I heard downstairs and wanted to believe I had imagined the whole thing, but I knew that even I couldn't be that paranoiac about the only two nice people.

But one thing was clear: Grover and Mr. Brunner were talking about me behind my back. They thought I was in some kind of danger that even I didn't know of.

The next afternoon, as I was leaving the three-hour Latin exam, my eyes swimming with all the Greek and Roman names I'd misspelled, Mr. Brunner called me back inside.

For a moment, I was worried he'd found out about my eavesdropping the night before, but that didn't seem to be the problem.

"Winry, " he said. "Don't be discouraged about leaving Yancy. It's ... It's for the best. "

His tone was kind, but the words still embarrassed me. Even though he was speaking quietly, the other kids finishing the test could hear. Nancy Bobofit smirked at me and made sarcastic little kissing motions with her lips. Any other time, I would have gotten up and punched her (I have nothing to lose), but I felt… Sad.

I mumbled, "Okay, sir."

"I mean ..." Mr. Brunner wheeled his chair back and forth, like he wasn't sure what to say. "This isn't the right place for you. It was only a matter of time. "

My eyes stung and I swallowed the growing lump on my throat.

Here was my favorite teacher, in front of the class, telling me I couldn't handle it. After saying he believed in me all year, now he was telling me I was destined to get kicked out. Was he lying when he said he believed me? Did he really think I couldn't do well? He was just like that crayon hater!

"Right," I said, trembling.

"No, no, "Mr. Brunner said. "Oh, don't confound it all. What I'm trying to say ... You're not normal, Winry. That's nothing to be-"

"Thanks," I blurted. "Thanks a lot, sir, for reminding me.

"Winry-"

But I was already gone, wiping my face harshly, so they couldn't see the tears I was already shedding.

On the last day of the term, I shoved my clothes into my suitcase, along with the few candies I had and the other things that weren't ruined by Nancy.

The other girls were trading things like nail polish or sparkly fake jewels, all the while talking about their vacation plans. One of them was going on a hiking trip to Switzerland. Another was cruising the Caribbean for a month. Some others were going to Paris to a fashion show. They were juvenile delinquents, like me, but they were rich juvenile delinquents. Their daddies were executives, or ambassadors, or celebrities.

I was a nobody, from a family of nobodies. My ancestors were nobodies and my descendents will probably be too (sorry, descendents).

They asked me, with oblivious fake interest, what I was going to do this summer and I told them I would go back to the city.

What I didn't tell them was that I'd have to get a summer job walking dogs or selling magazine subscriptions, maybe even helping mom or Sue-Ling at the candy shop, and spend my free time worrying about where I'd go to school in the fall. After all, what school would be crazy enough to accept me now?

"Oh" One of those girls said, obviously not interested. "That's very nice, Wendy."

Then, they went back to the conversation as if I never even existed. And, apparently, they really thought my name was Wendy (well, it's better than Winry, anyway, I don't really blame them). I didn't know if they were trying to lie or not, but if they were, they're almost as bad as Grover.

The only person I dreaded saying good-bye to was Grover, but as it turned out, I didn't have to. He'd booked a ticket to Manhattan on the same Greyhound as I had, so there we were, together again, heading into the city. I know he sounds like a stalker, but, hey, he is my friend (it was a scary time when I thought that he had a crush on me, well, that was creepy).

During the whole bus ride, Grover kept glancing nervously down the aisle, watching the other passengers. It occurred to me that he'd always acted nervous and fidgety when we left Yancy, as if he expected something bad to happen. Before, I'd always assumed he was worried about getting teased. But there was nobody to tease him on the Greyhound.

Finally I couldn't stand it anymore (hey, I did last a lot of time for me).

I said, "Looking for Kindly Ones?"

Grover nearly jumped out of his seat. "Wha-what do you mean?"

I confessed about eavesdropping on him and Mr. Brunner the night before the exam. I didn't mention anything about screaming like a little girl when I noticed my nails, since that was really humiliating.

Grover's eye twitched. "How much did you hear?"

"Oh ... Not much. What's the summer solstice dead-line?" I asked and couldn't keep the amusement out of my voice. After all the crazy experience they made me go throught, it was nice to see Grover begin the nervous (more the normally) one.

He winced. "Look, Winry ... I was just worried for you, see? I mean, hallucinating about demon math teachers ... "

"Grover-"

"And I was telling Mr. Brunner that maybe you were overstressed or something, because there was no such person as Mrs. Dodds, and ... "

"Grover, you're a really, really bad liar. " I told him what I waiting to tell since the first time he said that he didn't want that crazy aluminum Korean cake (I don't know how Grover's stomach works, really).

His ears turned pink.

From his shirt pocket, he fished out a grubby business card. "Just take this, okay? In case you need me this summer."

The card was in fancy script, which was murder on my dyslexic eyes, but I finally made out something like:

_ Grover Underwood_

_Keeper_

Half-Blood Hill

Long Island, New York

(800) 009-0009

"What's Half-"

"Don't say it aloud!" he yelped. "That's my, um ... Sum-mer address. "

My heart sank. Grover had a summer home. I'd never considered that his family might be as rich as the others at Yancy. For me, he wasn't another rich kid, he was just… Grover, good and old Grover that cried like a girl, tripped over everything and was my best friend. The thought of him begin like the other gave my heart a twist.

"Okay, " I said glumly. "So, like, if I want to come visit your mansion. "

He nodded. "Or ... Or if you need me. "

"Why would I need you?"

It came out harsher than I meant it to. And I instantly felt very guilty. It wasn't Grover's fault that he was rich and at least he didn't act like the others. He was nice to me.

Grover blushed right down to his Adam's apple. "Look, Winry, the truth is, I-I kind of have to protect you. "

I stared at him.

All year long, I'd gotten in fights, keeping bullies away from him. I'd lost sleep worrying that he'd get beaten up next year without me. And here he was acting like he was the one who

defended me. But I couldn't help but smile a little at tha thought. Grover protecting me? Ha, as if!

"Grover," I said, trying to keep the amusement out of my voice "what exactly are you protecting me from?"

There was a huge grinding noise under our feet. Black smoke poured from the dashboard and the whole bus filled with a smell like rotten eggs. The driver cursed and limped the Greyhound over to the side of the highway.

After a few minutes clanking around in the engine compartment, the driver announced that we'd all have to get off. Great, that was just what I needed, begin stuck in the road with a bunch of people (and my nervous best friend). Grover and I filed outside with everybody else.

We were on a stretch of country road-no place you'd notice if you didn't break down there. On our side of the highway was nothing but green maple trees and litter from passing cars (I think Grover was in his Green-mood, since he was seething from the litter). On the other side, across four lanes of asphalt shimmering with afternoon heat, was an old-fashioned fruit stand.

The stuff on sale looked really good: heaping boxes of blood-red cherries and apples, walnuts and apricots, jugs of cider in a claw-foot tub full of ice. There were no customers, which was sad, since it was the best fruits I have ever seen, just three old ladies sitting in rocking chairs in the shade of a maple tree, knitting the biggest pair of socks I'd ever seen.

I mean these socks were the size of sweaters, but they were clearly socks. The lady on the right knitted one of them. The lady on the left knitted the other. The lady in the middle held an enormous basket of electric-blue yarn. I had to admit, the socks were pretty, as if holding something more than simple yarn.

All three women looked ancient, with pale faces wrinkled like fruit leather, silver hair tied back in white bandannas, bony arms sticking out of bleached cotton dresses. You know, like someone just threw an old tan blanket over bones.

The weirdest thing was, they seemed to be looking right at me.

I looked over at Grover to say something about this and saw that the blood had drained from his face. His nose was twitching.

"Grover?" I said. "Hey, G-man-"

"Tell me they're not looking at you. They are, aren't they?"

"Yeah. Weird, huh? You think those socks would fit me?" Then, I thought about osmehting else. "Do you think I should wave? You know, they are looking at me.'

"Not funny, Winry. Not funny at all. " Wow, and they call me impolite.

The old lady in the middle took out a huge pair of scissors-gold and silver, long-bladed, like shears. I heard Grover catch his breath.

"We're getting on the bus, " he told me. "Come on. "

"What?" I said. "It's a thousand degrees in there. "

"Come on!'" He pried open the door and climbed inside, but I stayed back.

Across the road, the old ladies were still watching me, so I did what every polite child would have done.

I waved.

They raised each an eyebrow (maybe they hadn't met a lot of polite children), but said nothing. The middle one cut the yarn, and I swear I could hear that snip across four lanes of traffic. Her two friends balled up the electric-blue socks, leaving me wondering who they could possibly be for-Sasquatch or Godzilla.

At the rear of the bus, the driver wrenched a big chunk of smoking metal out of the engine compartment. The bus shuddered, and the engine roared back to life (yay! Engine, you're back!)

The passengers cheered.

"Darn right!" yelled the driver. He slapped the bus with his hat. "Everybody back on board!"

Once we got going, I started feeling feverish, as if I'd caught the flu. Touching my cheeks and my forehead, I noticed that I was in cold sweat, feeling as if I would puke. What happened? I was fine minutes ago.

Grover didn't look much better. He was shivering and his teeth were chattering.

"Grover?"

"Yeah?"

"What are you not telling me?"

He dabbed his forehead with his shirt sleeve. "Winry, what did you see back at the fruit stand?"

"You mean the nice old ladies? What is it about them, man? They're not like ... Mrs. Dodds, are they?

His expression was hard to read, but I got the feeling that the fruit-stand ladies were something much, much worse than Mrs. Dodds. He said, "Just tell me what you saw. "

"The middle one took out her scissors, and she cut the yarn. "

He closed his eyes and made a gesture with his fingers that might've been crossing himself, but it wasn't. It was something else, something almost-older.

He said, "You saw her snip the cord. "

"Yeah. So?" But even as I said it, I knew it was a big deal. I felt like I was getting more and more numb.

"This is not happening, " Grover mumbled. He started chewing at his thumb. "I don't want this to be like the last time. "

"What last time?"

"Always sixth grade. They never get past sixth. "

"Grover," I said, because he was really starting to scare me."What are you talking about?"

Let me walk you home from the bus station. Promise me. "

This seemed like a strange request to me, but I promised he could.

"Is this like a superstition or something?" I asked.

No answer.

"Grover-that snipping of the yarn. Does that mean somebody is going to die?"

He looked at me mournfully, like he was already picking the kind of flowers I'd like best on my coffin (blue flag iris, please, they are beautiful).


End file.
